A Gentleman's Game
by Rassilon001
Summary: The A-Team and the Lagoon Company expected opposition on their latest missions, but certainly not from each other. Rated R for action violence and strong language.
1. Arranging Pawns

**Disclaimer:  
**I do not own the A-Team or Black Lagoon, in either of its glorious manga or anime forms. It belongs to Madhouse and Yen Press, who are probably a lot richer (and undoubtedly a lot smarter) than I shall ever be.

**Summary:  
**The Lagoon Company are paid to courier a disk to their latest customer. Meanwhile, the A-Team is hired to destroy blueprints for a weapon of mass destruction. They expected opposition, but certainly not from each other. Rated R for action violence and strong language.

* * *

**Unknown Location**

**Unknown Time**

**Unknown Date**

Darkness and silence.

These two things were all John could see when he'd been accosted just moments ago outside of the Dry Cleaning store. But moments stretched on to hours, and he couldn't be sure how long he'd been shoved and pushed along in the dark with the bag over his head, he only dimly became back to full awareness when someone ripped it off. He was pushed down roughly into a chair, his hands still cuffed behind his back. A light snapped on, and his eyes closed against the sudden brightness, unused to it. He turned his head, unable to see, his head swimming from the sensation.

"You... you can't..." he swallowed, his throat dry. "You can't keep doing this to me. I have rights..."

A sharp bark of laughter cut him off.

A voice came out of the interplay of darkness and light. "Oh I assure you, we can and will. Now then... why don't we just get your name for the record?"

"Bite me," John responded.

Another voice, laughing at him. "Heh. Do you spell that with a capital B? Come now, John, we just want to talk."

That wasn't what he'd expected to hear. Or feel. His employers would've resorted to at _least_ hitting him by now. Which meant... "This isn't Armored Industries, is it?"

"No Mr Decker," came that original voice again, somehow a calming influence. And one who obviously knew him. "We're not with them."

"Who are you? CIA? FBI? Interpol?"

That second voice spoke up this time. Lighter pitched and more easy going. "Let's just say we're a concerned party."

Another voice, a third, added their own two cents to that. "Well I've been known to play pool from time to time..." before being quickly hushed. There seemed to be about four in total, vague, shadowy figures half hidden by the light. John couldn't make out their faces. Which was probably the point.

"Go on," prompted the second voice. "Tell us your story."

John Decker hesitated, tilting his head this way and that, but could not pierce the interplay of shadows and light. He seemed removed from the world, alone save for the four voices coming out of the darkness. He had little choice but to speak if he didn't want to stay here forever. "I... I'm uh... my name is John Decker," he explained. "An employee at Armored Industries. We specialize in military hardware. Most governments part of the United Nations have various contracts with us, either to manufacture weapons for them, or _not_ to manufacture for their competitors in the private sector. We've got big name contracts everywhere, we supply most of the militaries from the United States to South Korea."

He grimaced, realizing he was starting to sound like a car commercial. "I never really cared much about it, I just like stable employment and a good source of income. I uhm... well I..."

"Go on," said the first voice, gently prompting him on.

"I was just middle management. Human Resources, Personnel, that sort of thing. Nobody special. But one day I overheard the R&D talking about this new weapon they were developing for the military."

"What sort of weapon?" asked the third voice, suddenly serious.

"A laser. No, really, don't laugh, they sounded serious. I looked up some details. Its called a High Energy Tactical Laser. HETL. The R&D department called it Ragnarok."

"Norse mythology," intoned a new voice sagely. So there were four in total, at least. "End of the world. How appropriate."

He was starting to suspect this wasn't another interrogation. In fact, it almost felt like... an audition. Or an interview.

"Well if we were planning to market that we'd need manpower to market it, build it, finance it, all sorts of things. I wanted to get some details so I could be in position when the time came. I make it a point to keep my ear to the ground so I can look good in the eyes of my bosses."

"Perfectly reasonable," agreed the first voice.

John nodded. "I asked if my division was needed for this weapon, but the board kept telling me not to worry about it. I'm sort of used to being railroaded but this was different somehow. Then later they denied they were even working on such a weapon. Too cost effective, infeasible technology, lots of answers... and no two that matched."

"You smelled something fishy," guessed the second voice.

John nodded. "So I followed the trail one night and it led me straight to an e-mail with a foreign party. It had been deleted but I knew enough of the system to piece it back together. They were selling our latest weapon under the table to some foreign terrorists. They weren't going to market it to the public so they could let some monsters get a hold of it... then probably..."

"Who?"

"What?"

"Who did they sell the weapon to?" clarified the questioner.

"Hotel Moscow. They operate..."

"They're based in Russia, but they have links and ties to most criminal activity worldwide," said the first voice. "Not their usual MO, running weapons."

"Everyone has to have a hobby," suggested the third voice sarcastically.

"I don't know why, but I'm positive that's the group the e-mail was sent to. I didn't catch the name of the individual who received it, something in Russian I couldn't pronounce... but they're the ones who bought it. And I don't know why, but I can only imagine. Something awful."

Everyone in the room then had the same vision flash across their minds. Of terrorists and madmen with high powered lasers, destroying whole buildings, ships, planes, and countless innnocent lives lost in the ensuing struggle.

"So you went to the police?" asked the fourth voice.

John shook his head. "I couldn't! Armored Industries had contacts with the police departments in the city, as well as most of the federal bureaus. If not directly, then insiders who kept an eye out for trouble. They'd spot me in an instant. There was no way I could go to the news either, the instant they found out, I'd be a dead man."

"So what did you do?"

"At first I wasn't sure what to do. Then heard about this group of mercenaries... soldiers of fortune. Said they were the sorts who took jobs like this, helped out. But I never was able to get a hold of them. They were hidden too damn well. The company almost found out too..."

He trailed off, and those gathered around heard all sorts of unspoken things in his silence. Imagining well how the bigwigs of the company had sent hired thugs to threaten John Decker, maybe beat him up, blackmail his family. How they'd find out exactly what he knew and who he'd told it to, and take them out just as easily.

The poor man took only a ragged breath, and continued on.

"I think they bought my story, but they decided to put my loyalty to Armored Industries to the test just to be certain. Now I'm the delivery boy. They want me to drop off the blueprints to the weapon."

"Where?"

"The Phillipines," Decker replied. "To a courier group that will ferry it to Thailand and the Russian Mafia headquartered there."

"Why not just lose the disk?" asked the third voice. "Drop it in a garbage compactor or hit it with a strong magnet before you hand it over?"

He shook his head. "That's why they're sending me," Decker explained.

The first speaker seemed to understand. "It's part of the loyalty test. It has to be genuine until the couriers get a hold of it. Once they have it..."

"Then I'm in the clear," Decker agreed. "And the disk can be destroyed without anyone the wiser for my involvement."

"And just when does this transaction take place?"

"Three days. The couriers from the mafia will be meeting me at this casino in Miricana. Its local name translates as the 'Lucky Jack' in English. I make the hand-off at precisely five in the afternoon. After that I keep my head down and come home the next day."

"Say these mercenaries of yours agreed, hypothetically. What about payment?"

"Half a million dollars can be wired anonymously to an offshore bank account. I know the system, I know how to work it. Give me a week and I can send the rest of their fee. If... if they're willing to do this, of course."

"The schematics on the weapon, we'd need at least a partial copy so we know we're getting the genuine thing," said the fourth voice.

"How do you plan to get the disk once you arrive?" asked Decker curiously.

"We'll worry about that, you worry about the money," said the second voice.

"That sounds fair," he agreed.

"Then congratulations, Mr. Decker," said the first voice, as the light winked off. Four smiling faces greeted him in the darkness. Faces he knew. Colonel John 'Hannibal' Smith. Lieutenant Templeton 'Faceman' Peck. Captain Murdoc. Sargeant Bosco Albert Baracus.

This was the team he'd been looking for!

"You just hired the A-Team," said Hannibal.

* * *

Another typical day sitting around the office of the Lagoon Company.

Roanapur was suffering an unseasonable heat wave, and considering it was summer, that meant it was nearly hot enough outside to melt steel. The summer was becoming one of the hottest, longest, most unpleasant in living memory. And for a city this far south that was an accomplishment in and of itself. Rock had even heard Eda at the Yellow Flag the other night declaring the heat as 'ungodly.' Most business outdoors was quick and to the point, everyone stayed as close as they could to a fan or A/C unit. As the Lagoon Company's had broken earlier that month (something about Revy and a thrown shoe) they were making due with a fan and some ice in their drinks.

Revy lay on the couch, legs kicked up, and was perusing an old Victoria Secret magazine from three years ago. Not that she had any intentions of buying, of course, but she'd run out of other literature ever since Rock had volunteered to clean up the office. He'd thrown most of it out by accident. She had been very ticked off about that.

Hence the thrown shoe and the A/C unit.

Benny was out, he was working on some errand or another, only the boss knew for certain. Rock and Dutch sat in their respective seats, sipped their drinks, and passed the time wishing it was less hot out.

None of them bothered to lift their heads when they heard the car drive up outside of the Lagoon Company, nor the fall of footsteps up the stairs to their front door. Only Rock bothered to turn his head when the door actually opened, the others were too used to the niceties of Roanapur to suspect an attack.

Benny popped his head in, his Hawaiian t-shirt already stained with sweat as he held up triumphantly in his hands, "Pizza!"

Two large and a small, just like the Roanapur team of miscreants liked it. Benny put them down on the central table, pushing aside some papers that were in the way and letting the topmost one lift open so its intoxicating smell could fill their little office.

Only Revy reacted to the smell with disgust instead of enjoyment.

"You dumbass, who goes out for pizza on a day like this? Should've made it ice cream."

"Would've melted," he countered smoothly. "Come on, may as well enjoy, I emptied my wallet for this fine feast."

"Thank you," said Rock, trying to convey the words to cover his teammates as well, since Dutch and Revy had both already dug in to the offered feast with barely a word of gratitude. Revy may've critiqued the choice but she had never turned down a free meal in her life, and didn't intend to start now.

Business had been slow, ever since the return from Japan and the additional mess of the Lovelace Family things had been escalating with the Hotel Moscow/Triad alliance. It was on shaky ground on the best of days, but now both sides were working overtime, pushing out smaller business in Roanapur in favor of their own. Most jobs these days tend to be too little pay and too much risk, which Dutch inevitably had to turn down. He'd lost his thrill of combat ages ago, and even Revy hadn't complained. Not for fear of dying, but fear of dying poor. They weren't hurting for money just yet, but they _were _starting to get bored out of their minds.

So they'd come to this, sitting around the table in the Lagoon Company office, munching on pizza that tasted like cardboard and waiting for a call that probably wouldn't come.

Revy decided she'd been bored long enough and wanted to have a little fun.

"Hey Rocky, whatcha think, is it me?" Revy asked with a smirk, holding up a page showing a very well-endowed blonde woman in little more than a few strips of artfully placed black lace.

He spluttered, caught off-guard by her question, and his brain locked as he processed it to its logical extent: the image of Revy in that sort of outfit, stretched across a bed somewhere, with a come-hither look in her eyes.

Thankfully he was spared the awkwardness of answering by the ring of the phone, and Rock all but leapt across the room to answer it, leaving Revy in hysterics.

"Lagoon Company," he said, straightening his tie, feeling it suddenly very stuffy in the room. His expression changed only a little when he heard the voice on the other side, then he offered the phone to Dutch, stretching out the cord.

"For you," said Rock, handing the phone over.

The larger man took it, setting his slice of pizza down. "Dutch."

A moment of silence followed, and then, "Ah, yes."

A short pause followed.

"No not at the moment," he replied.

Another short pause.

"I see."

A much longer pause this time.

"Sounds reasonable."

A much briefer pause.

"No I suppose not. Yes that sounds adequate. And we're off to...? Ah, got it."

The others continued to quietly munch at their slices of pizza as they listened to the one sided conversation, each imagining what the voice on the other side must be saying. The tension was palpable, it sounded like work, and after so long sitting around with the brains boiling inside of their skulls thanks to the Roanapur summer, they were ready for action.

"Pleasure as always doing business with you."

Dutch tossed the phone to Rock, who caught it awkwardly and hung it back up. Rock and Benny looked up expectantly, while Revy continued to idly read her magazine, feigning disinterest. But she didn't fool anyone, she was just as anxious they are.

"Got a job people!" he declared. "Tomorrow morning we're off to the Phillipines."

"Whoop-de-fuckin'-do," muttered Revy, tossing the magazine over her shoulder and onto the floor. "Pick-up, drop-off, or body count?"

"The first two," Dutch said. "Balalaika called it in."

Rock felt tense, remembering very distinctly how things had gone the last time he'd worked for Hotel Moscow. That had led to a very messy trip home to Japan.

"We're simply couriers this time," Dutch explained, leaning back in his customary chair. "Meet with this man in the Phillipines delivering a package, pick it up, deliver it here in Roanapur to Miss Balalaika herself. They handle the money wirelessly but they don't trust the package with US postal, for obvious reasons."

"Are they expecting some sort of trouble?" Rock asked, well aware of how things tended to go on these sorts of jobs.

"Not yet, but we're getting $6,000 up front. I'd say that's worth some effort, don't you?"

"Hai... I mean yeah. What's the package?"

"Portable hard-drive," replied Dutch, popping a cigarette between his teeth and flicking his lighter open.

"What's on it?"

Dutch raised an eyebrow at his newest employee, who still was having trouble with their 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' policy. "Nothing you need to worry about, Rock. Benny'll get the details so we can make sure we're not being decoyed. Come to think of it, you don't even have to come, you can do some paperwork around the office..."

"Is Revy going?" he interrupted.

"Hell yeah, I need Two Hands in case things go to shit."

"Then I'll come along too," Rock declared.

Revy rolled her eyes. "My hero," she muttered, mock swooning as she slid off the couch and to her feet, stretching out her sore arms. "Come on, Romeo, we've got one last night in paradise, may as well hit the Yellow Flag before we have to try the swill at some cheap dive in the Phillipines."

"You two can go home for the day," Dutch said, then turned his head to Benny. "Balalaika is e-mailing us some specs, use the company account and keep 'em on hand for the drop. I don't wanna travel thirty thousand miles and find out we got duped midway home. That blonde will blow a hole in my head."

"No problemo boss," replied their resident hacker. "I'm sure I can get something portable ready by the time we hit land."

"Terrific," muttered Dutch. "Oh and Rock, before you head out, get me that map of the Pacific out, would you? I wanna know which way I'm driving tomorrow for the pick-up."

"Where is this place we're doing business?"

"Some place called... Miricana..."

* * *

**Author's Notes:  
**It's like watching a train wreck about to happen. Beautiful, isn't it?

For the A-Team, this takes place shortly after the movie of the same name, and while borrow influences from the TV show, remains more in tune with the movie portrayal. For the Lagoon company, after season three of the anime with Roberta's Rampage.


	2. Opening Moves

Rock woke up with a wicked headache the next morning, but Revy seemed to be in far worse shape when he dropped by her place to pick her up. He almost got shot when he had to haul her out of bed and to her shower to get presentable. But in the end, they showed up to the docks where the Lagoon was waiting only a few minutes behind schedule.

"Come on, you two! Deliveries aren't making themselves!" shouted Dutch from the hatch, beckoning them aboard, even as Benny released the ropes and the old PT boat started off. Within moments, they were on their way eastwards.

Nearly two weeks later, and a brief stopover in Korea for supplies and fuel, they'd finally arrived in the Philippines. It was a bit longer than their usual routes around Thailand and China, but they were being paid top dollar for a relatively simple job. Dutch was in exceptionally high spirits.

Rock less so.

He still wanted to know what they were delivering, even if it wasn't his place to ask. Last time he'd been told to deliver some data without being told what was on it, he'd been hijacked and kidnapped by pirates. It was a life-changing event and not one he easily forgot.

_Secrets kept here can get you killed_, he thought. Roanapur continued to bury them in the sand, but someone else always dug them up. Or they sprouted into ugly disasters.

His gaze flicked over to Revy, half asleep as she leaned against the side of the boat, cigarette dangling from her lips.

They arrived in Miricana early morning. Dutch secured his boat and paid the docking fine, and Benny rolled around a short while later in a bright red Toyota. They'd considered taking a taxi, but Dutch wanted more control and mobility if (_more like when_) they were attacked. So they chipped in for a rental car, which Benny parked in the lot in front of the Lucky Jack Casino after a short trip around the edge of the city.

"This place has seen better days," remarked Benny casually as he slid out of the car, getting a good look at the place.

Revy seemed to agree. "What a fuckin' shit-hole," she said as she stretched out her limbs.

"Doesn't look so bad to me," Rock said, glancing at her puzzled, then eyeing the building. It looked top notch, like the sort of thing you would see in Las Vegas. Flashing lights, neon signs, pictures of the waitresses in skimpy outfits. The sort of place he wouldn't have gone within a hundred yards of in his old life.

"I meant the city," she explained, glancing back down the road. On either side of it, buildings were boarded up and in disrepair, crumbling and old, paint chipping or stripped away entirely. And most of the city had looked much the same way from what they'd seen on the way up.

It was a stark contrast to the scene behind them.

"Rich getting richer, poor getting poorer?" Rock guessed.

"Kinda," she agreed. "But that's exactly why this place is doing so well."

He nodded in understanding. "People want to think they have a chance to change their life around," he glanced back at the Lucky Jack. "This is it. So it just sucks up all their money. And they keep it here as a symbol of hope. Even if it's a false one."

"You're learning," she muttered. "Come on, let's get this over with..."

* * *

Hannibal deftly plucked the Queen from his hand and slid her two places over to join his pair of Jacks. He shrugged, decided to call, and then discarded both Jacks when it came time to draw again. It was a very illogical move, but he wasn't playing to win, he was trying to keep the gaming going while he waited for the transaction to take place.

He paused only momentarily, his poker face not slipping in the least as he found three Queens now staring up at him from his hand, two new ones having joined the first.

Hannibal had to laugh softly at that. His luck was always atrociously fickle, and here she slapped him in the face with a winning hand knowing full well he wouldn't have time to collect.

"Good to have you with me, miss, just don't cut and run when things get ugly," he murmured half-seriously.

He took a moment to adjust his visor and look up across the casino, past the flashing lights and unfamiliar faces. He caught sight of Face leaning against the bar, trying to coax a waitress out of her uniform.

Murdock was out of sight, and hadn't signaled in a while. Hopefully his part in the plan was going smoothly.

B.A. was at the door, keeping an eye out for trouble. Hannibal didn't expect any, but they were wanted fugitives and even in a remote part of the world like this they could've been identified by law enforcement, or worse, the military.

And then there was their client. He looked nervous as hell, which was understandable. Mixed in amongst the greedy players, colorful tourists, and rich high rollers were a fair share of thugs, gangsters, and mercenaries. They were all trying to act subtle, but none of them carried themselves the same way. Or even acted the same way. They were tense, their stances defensive, their eyes hardened. Company goons, some probably former soldiers. The rest just hired thugs. Another couple was entering now by the door, passing by B.A.

That one girl wasn't even trying to be subtle about it. Twin holsters resting under her arms and not even a jacket on to cover them. And even about fifty feet out, he could tell the guns were custom made too. It's like she was trying to announce she was walking trouble. Dumb woman must've been hired by the Company to keep an eye on Decker.

The near-invisible earpiece buzzed to life, and he heard a voice. Murdock's.

"Yo boss man. We're ready to rock'n'roll. Not necessarily in that order."

He gave an amused grin. That boy Murdock... never a dull moment with him around. Oh well, time to call it quits here and get things moving. He glanced up, all eyes on the table were on him, and he realized it was his turn to call or fold.

"Sorry boys, much more interesting game's just started up... you'll have to excuse me," he said, and he tossed down his hand.

Three Queens trumped just about anything the other occupants had, whether they knew it or not. Some of them just gasped in shock as Hannibal all but handed over his winnings, grabbed his coat, and slid out of his chair. Didn't matter. Poker was a game he was reasonably good at but it wasn't his game really.

He preferred chess. And the pieces should've all be in place right about now.

* * *

Though they did not realize it, there was a moment in time when two great forces, like ships in the fog, passed one another. So close that their hulls might have been less than a hand span away and yet the weather made it so that neither realized the fact. This was how an outsider observer might have described the present moment. For the very seat vacated by Hannibal Smith was claimed by Dutch seconds later, the big man settling in comfortably for the next round of play. He tossed down a few chips and made some wagers, not really making an effort to win anything back. He was just keeping up the cover while spending pocket change.

Revy made a beeline for the bar and ordered something strong. Benny joined her, but thankfully only ordered a club soda to be polite. They'd need him sharp, since he was driving the rental. Last thing the Lagoon Company needed was to be pulled over by the police after their client made the drop.

Rock stuck his hands in his pockets, trying not to look anywhere in particular. All the bright flashing lights were making his eyes hurt. Plus, he was painfully aware of just how out of place he looked in a place like this. Too under-dressed to be a waiter, too over-dressed to be a player.

One of the waitresses, in a low cut top that did wonders to emphasize just how very kind puberty had been to her, asked if he wanted a drink. He declined politely, not wishing to do so on duty, never mind how Revy was already tearing up the bar. The waitress smiled and said to check in with her if he changed his mind, flirting with him in a most obvious fashion as she walked off with a sway to her hips. As he watched her go, he spotted a larger gentleman sitting down in the lobby, just by the doors. Dark-skinned and heavily muscled, for a second it looked like Dutch had changed his clothes, but then he saw a rather distinct Mohawk atop of his head, and closer inspection revealed very different facial features. He was reading a book.

He must've felt Rock's gaze, for he lifted his own, and the two men's eyes met. Rock tipped his head politely, not wishing to irritate the other man, and looked elsewhere. Satisfied, the dark man went back to his reading.

Rock paused a moment when he saw the title. Sun Zsu's 'The Art of War.'

_Unusual choice_, he thought.

The former Japanese salaryman glanced up and around the bar, checking on his fellow Lagoon Company employees, making sure everyone was okay. He always felt uneasy whenever they were on a job like this, and he doubted he'd really relax until they were back on the ol' PT boat.

"Get your fucking hands off of me!"

Rock's head snapped up as he recognized that tone of voice, and without thinking his body was already in motion towards the bar, where Revy, Benny, and some handsome pretty boy were, the former of whom looked ready to draw her weapons.

Completely oblivious to the danger he was facing, the pretty boy was still calm as cucumbers, even as his hands remained up, signifying he was harmless. "Hey come on baby, no harm meant. Why don't I buy your next round on me?"

"Why don't you go fuck yourself?" she roared, grabbing a fistful of his collar.

"Well gee, usually I have to buy dinner first before we get to the kinky stuff, but in your case I'll be happy to make an exception..."

The auburn-haired woman spluttered indignantly, hand reaching instinctively for her solve-all equipment. Fortunately, Rock intercepted her before her other hand could reach her cutlass.

"Not here, Revy," he whispered, holding her arm just so above the elbow. Fuming, Revy calmed down, or at least stopped threatening to blow a hole in the other man's head. She threw him backwards by his collar, almost knocking him off his feet.

"Let's just do this and ditch this fuckin' place," she muttered, stalking away from the bar. Rock followed, while the pretty boy just adjusted his coat and left the establishment entirely.

"Heads up, you two, client's here," announced Benny, tipping back his soda and indicating the floor of the casino. A thin, unassuming man of American descent had entered the casino, indiscreetly clutching a briefcase in his hand like it was a lifeline. His attire was only semi-casual, coat and tie, the latter undone sloppily. Gray hair and green eyes matched the information they'd been given: John Decker, or so they'd been briefed. He spoke not a word, just sat down at the table beside Dutch and rested a suitcase between them.

Twenty minute passed as the two men continued to play, maintaining the illusion they didn't know one another, exchanging small talk about the weather and dumb luck, as both started to lose their multicolored chips to the opposition. John ran out first.

He got up, but left the suitcase.

Dutch lasted a little while longer, but since he wasn't even trying to win, it didn't take long for the card sharks to eat him alive. Though he at least escaped with a few bills still to his name.

Then he got up, and took the suitcase with him. He rendezvoued with Benny, who took the case and went outside to check its contents. Dutch grabbed a drink from the bar while they all waited. Moments later, Benny gave a thumb up from the lobby, and they bid farewell to the Lucky Jack, paying up their tab. Rock sighed gratefully, the hard part of their mission seemingly over. Things could have gotten really bad if the client had tried to screw them over.

Revy grabbed the suitcase from Benny, then smirked wickedly.

"Here, Rocky, you can play delivery boy. Catch!" she said, tossing him the suitcase, which he only barely caught. Rock stumbled at the semi-friendly jostling. Right into one of the chairs in the front lobby.

The same chair he'd seen the gentleman reading the Art of War.

It was empty now.

Rock had an ominous feeling settle around his shoulders, and felt the two might be related. Irregardless, they'd be safer on the move, so it stood to reason they should go. Now.

* * *

Across the parking lot from the Lucky Jack, perched high up the side of a nearby building, a solitary gray-haired individual stood watch as the briefcase and its couriers departed the casino. They were all piling up inside of a red car, and he made a meticulous note of its make, model, color and license plate, relaying the information to the rest of his team. Apparently they were taking a separate route from their first time arriving at the Jack, in case anyone had seen them coming. They were taking the main road through the city now, back to the docks.

Hannibal smirked as he lowered the binoculars. Just as he'd expected. He then queued up the mic and instructed into it. "Murdock, you're up. They're heading your way now in a red Toyota. Remember, zero death count."

After receiving affirmatives from all of his teammates, Hannibal leapt over the side of the railing, sliding down the fire escape. He landed neatly atop of a gray van with an orange stripe on the side and hopped into the main compartment, finding his equipment already there waiting for him.

* * *

"How long to the docks?" asked Dutch, leaning back in his seat.

Benny checked his phone, which thanks to a recent upgrade had GPS. "Twenty minutes, tops. Then we're home free."

Dutch rode shotgun, while Rock and Revy took up the back seats, the former buckling in while the latter adamantly refused to bother. So she almost hit the seat in front of her when Benny slammed on the brakes and brought their car to a sudden screeching halt.

"Hey! What's the fucking hold up?" spat Revy, shifting between the two middle seats to glare over the dashboard.

"Construction," muttered Benny. "They're signaling us to go around... hold on, we're next..."

"Peachy," Revy muttered, leaning back in the seat. Benny waited until he was signaled by the construction worker, who flipped his sign from 'Stop' to 'Go' and waved them on down the next route, following a detour sign down an alleyway.

Murdock waved them along, then flipped the sign in his hands to 'Stop' and thrust it into the ground to halt on-coming traffic. He tapped the communicator strapped to his vest.

"Big Rooster, come in Big Rooster this is Mad Cow. It's go time. Lock and load. Insert non-sequitur here. The goose has landed. I repeat: the goose has landed."

The flying ace sprinted across the sidewalk to his next destination, ripping off and throwing aside his silly yellow hardhat and orange vest in favor of a dark t-shirt with a gray and blonde Pegasus on it and his favorite baseball cap.

* * *

They drove down the back alleyway, and even Rock, the least jaded of the Lagoon Company, suddenly felt uneasy. It was too narrow, too dangerous, to...

His line of thoughts got cut off as a gray van suddenly intercepted their car at the mouth of the alleyway, and Benny slammed hard on the brakes, narrowly avoiding them.

"Son of a bitch!" spat Revy, who'd again slammed into Dutch's seat in front of her.

Before they could back-up or change direction, a motorcycle came gunning down the alleyway and swerved to a stop behind them, the rider already drawing out a weapon to keep them from doing anything stupid. Like it or not they were completely boxed in.

The side door of the gray truck unloaded another individual, a gray-haired gentleman with a very dangerous looking double barrel shotgun. He was quickly backed up by the motorcycle rider, who tipped back his sunglasses with his free hand, his firearm never leaving the team. Rock and Revy nearly spat out their cigarettes as they recognized him. It was the pervert from the casino. The one who'd felt up Revy.

"Hey there gorgeous. Still beautiful I see," he oozed charm, even as he brought up a handgun and kept it trained on them.

Revy fumed darkly, and Dutch let one of his hands drop down slowly...

"Don't," said the gray-haired man, stopping him cold. "I don't want to kill anyone today but if you reach for that sidearm you won't walk away from this. Do the smart thing here."

Dutch frowned but raised his hands back up to where they could be seen. "Rock, hand him the disk."

"Nice and easy now," added the lech, holding out his free hand for it.

Rock gently placed it in his hand, making sure to keep his clear, and even tried to shift in front of Revy so he could block any bullets that came their way. Even though at this range they'd go through his body like tissue paper. Behind him, he could _feel_ the heat of Revy's glare.

The handsome man winked at her as he held up the disk triumphantly.

Revy's eye twitched, and if she'd been any angrier, she'd be spitting fire.

"Stay beautiful, chica," he said with a jaunty wave, before turning the bike around and gunning it down the end of the alleyway.

"MOTHERFUC-!"

Unable to keep calm one second longer, Revy all but threw herself out of the window and opened fire, arm across her chest, aiming at the motorcyclist.

The mercenary in the truck tried to respond, but faster than the eye could follow her other cutlass was in her other hand, also crossing her chest, and opened fire, forcing him to duck or lose his head.

The driver of the van suddenly accelerated, driving forward. Gunshots rang out at the gray-haired mercenary opened fire, but his shots went wild, he was aiming to provide cover, not to kill. Even so, Dutch and Benny ducked under the dashboard as Rock threw up his arms in a feeble attempt to protect himself. Revy switched arms and continued to fire in both directions.

"Back us up!" shouted Dutch.

"Hold on!" replied Benny, throwing into reverse and shoving his foot down on the pedal. Rock yanked Revy back inside as they picked up speed. The Toyota took off like a shot down the alleyway, in reverse, scraping hard against a dumpster before they cleared it.

"That way!" shouted Rock, pointing down the road the motorcyclist was going.

"After him!"

* * *

**Author's Notes:  
**Fair warning but, per the A-Team universe and the Black Lagoon universe... laws of physics are trumped by the rule of cool. Every time.


	3. Stalemate

Face laughed, gunning the motor, and took off like Hell was nipping at his heels. Given the expression of the Chinese woman with the guns, it likely was. Devil woman indeed, she'd give Captain Souza a run for her money.

Two bullets whistled by his ear and over his head as he gave a sharp turn and ducked behind another building, navigating the narrow roads of the city. He wanted to find a long stretch of road and just gun it, but that would only make him a clear target. So instead he weaved in and out of every obstacle he could find to try and obscure their target.

_Time for phase two_, he realized.

Keeping one hand on the handlebars, Face tugged up on his jacket and keyed his mic. "Murdoc, little help here!"

The roar of rotary blades overhead announced the arrival of his favorite nutjob pilot, as a tiny two-man helicopter flew low over the rooftops of Miricana. Murdoc had saved it from the scrapheap quite literally, and in a fit of madness decided to paint it the ugliest shade of yellow in the color spectrum. Right now, the yellow bird was just about the most beautiful thing Face had ever seen.

A cable was lowered down towards Face, even as the bird changed course to match him, keeping pace perfectly. A basket had been left at the bottom of the cable. Face wasted no time, checking once to ensure the back alley in front of him was clear, and once behind him. The crazy lady was re-loading, so he had a few seconds. Using one hand to steer he grabbed the cable and pulled it down, steering the motorcycle with his legs, as he slipped a disk into the basket.

"We're good! Go! Go!"

Murdoc pulled up abruptly, the basket dangling from the cable as the helicopter turned in mid-air with impeccable grace and took off towards its destination. Face, meanwhile, grabbed the handlebars with seconds to spare, skidding hard to the right to avoid a collision with a schoolbus, then taking off down the road. Behind him, he heard lots of angry cursing and the skid of tires as someone came to an abrupt stop.

He grinned as he took off again, glancing over his shoulder as he watched the vehicle and the crazy gun-toting woman go off after the helicopter instead of himself. All according to plan.

* * *

The really weird thing was, as far as Rock could see, the helicopter wasn't trying to gain any altitude. It would've been a simple matter to pull up into the air and they wouldn't have had a prayer of following. Yet it hung just shy of gun range, dangling the briefcase from its cable like a prize waiting to be snatched out of the air.

It was almost like...

Rock started as the epiphany hit him. "They want us to follow!" he exclaimed.

Dutch had apparently reached the same conclusion. "Benny, turn us around! We can still catch up to that biker."

Hitting the brakes hard, the car swerved, taking an intersection sharply. Horns blared and tires screeched but thankfully the Lagoon team managed to avoid being part of a collision. Benny floored the accelerator and they were off again.

"Must've been a decoy," said Rock, analyzing the situation logically. "The real information is heading for the docks while we go off on a wild goose chase."

"I am starting to get very pissed off with these assholes," muttered Revy, ejecting her clips and checking her ammo. Satisfied, she jammed them back in, just as they rolled around a corner and down another street, approaching the warehouse district.

Dutch spotted it first. "There!"

Sure enough, near one of the more remote warehouse was a distinctive foreign motorcycle, neatly parked up against the side of the building. Benny switched gears and drove over towards it...

... only to bid a hasty retreat as gunfire erupted from one of the windows of the warehouse, peppering the ground beside their rental, narrowly missing them. Dutch and Revy, on the same side of the car, leaned out the windows as Benny turned, firing up at the window. They saw the impact against stone walls and glass windows but no telltale splatter of blood as they sped to a safe distance away, Benny angling them behind another building for cover. A long ramp led up to the loading docks, currently closed. In fact, the whole area was deserted, which was a godsend because the sort of trouble they were in would've only gotten worse if others were in the way.

"Maybe we should just call this quits?" suggested Rock meekly.

"Fuck that noise," snapped the gun-toting girl to his right.

"No way I'm letting these guys get away with this," muttered Dutch, ejecting his spent shells and reloading his gun. Behind him, Revy did the same thing, smoothly trading her spent clips for fresh ones.

Benny frowned over the steering wheel, suddenly wishing he had a gun. Or at least a hardline connection. Right now all he had as a weapon was their car, and that...

**Lightbulb.**

"Hold on, I got an idea... everybody un-buckle!" he threw the car into reverse and drove backwards, then came to a sharp stop at the base of the ramp. Rock complied with his request, being the only one who'd bothered to buckle up in the first place.

"Get ready!"

"For what?!" shouted Rock incredulously.

Benny didn't reply, he just hit the accelerator. Fast enough they'd hit the ramp and get airborne, but not so fast they wouldn't be able to do this:

"Everybody out!" shouted Benny, as he hit the accelerator hard, then dove out the door. The rental car sped up the ramp and into the air as its four occupants dove out to safety. It flew skywards until gravity claimed it and it came crashing down into the side of the warehouse building with a spectacular explosion, huge gouts of red flames licking the now broken walls of the building.

Revy rolled onto her stomach and coughed as she scrambled to her feet. "Where the fuck did you learn to drive, watching the Dukes of Hazzard?!"

"Everyone okay?" yelled Dutch, gun in hand.

"Oooh... I'll live... I think..." said Benny, out of breath and bruised, flat on his back.

"I'm okay!" yelled Rock, his wrists and elbows aching from where he'd caught himself in the fall, but otherwise unhurt.

"Let's move then!"

* * *

Inside the building was considerably more turmoil. The walls had thankfully stayed upright in the section where the team had set up base, but the explosion outside had rocked them to the point they were cracked and fractured badly. Backlash had shattered the windows, glass had rained down everywhere, and most of the team had been thrown clean off their feet to the floor.

"I'm gonna feel that in the morning," muttered BA.

Flat on his back, his teammate grimaced. "T-that's what she said..." said Face, then gave a weak laugh.

"Stow it, we've still got a mission to finish," said Hannibal.

The car's impact had shaken the building badly, the far end was already lit ablaze, but thankfully, none of his team were injured. Hannibal grunted as he climbed to his feet, double-checking on Face and BA to make sure they were alright as well. He scrambled to the desk where the disk was, making sure it was alright. Much as he wanted to destroy it here and now he had to get it intact to Decker. With his testimony and this proof, they'd be able to bring down Armored Industries.

"Gentlemen! I think we've outstayed our welcome," he said with false cheerfullness, and he hit the radio at his side. "Murdock, come and get us, and be ready for trouble they didn't take the bait."

"Be there asap," replied the good captain. "Five minutes tops."

"Make it sooner," Hannibal replied quickly, then killed the mic and tugged on his gloves, popping the magazine from his gun and making sure it was loaded then slapping it in and priming the first shot. It was time to stop playing it nice with these guys, and get serious.

"Alright, BA, I want-!"

He didn't get to finish giving out his orders, as the door exploded inwards as a booted foot kicked it down, and there stood Revy, looking pissed off and ready to unleash Hell.

* * *

Revy rolled into the middle of the room and stood up, cutlasses flashing in the air, triggers pulled back.

Click. Click.

Click. Click.

Two guns rested on either side of her head, business ends pointed directly at her brain, though she returned the favor, her own weapons lodged into the cheekbone and forehead of Hannibal and Baracus, respectively.

Click.

She felt a third gun pointed at the back of her head.

"Drop 'em," came a voice from behind. Another gunman had gotten the drop on her.

Click.

"_You_ drop it asshole," snapped Dutch, and Revy smirked. He had her back.

"Hannibal?" asked the voice from behind her. The rest of the Lagoon team slipped in, keeping well out of the way of gunfire, not interested in interrupting the stand-off.

"I am getting a little tired of pulling my punches with you hired thugs," said Hannibal darkly. "Here's the deal. Put down your guns, and walk out. Or we put you all in bodybags."

"Fuck you," replied Revy. "Got you a better one. You put your head between your legs and-!"

Rock interrupted before she could continue. "Revy!"

"Shuttup!"

Seeing the situation rapidly spiral out of control, Dutch did his best to reign in his crew. "Both of you shutup! Now, Hannibal, is it? Let's deal. Both of us obviously want that disk..."

"For completely different reasons."

"Oh, so you're not getting paid?" Revy snarked. "So you're ugly –and- stupid?"

"Revy I told you to shut the fuck up!" snapped Dutch.

The dark-skinned man with the gun at his forehead smirked. "Better muzzle your dog, boy. She's goin' mad."

Revy's eye twitched but thankfully she didn't open fire and get everyone killed.

"She's dangerous... I like her," remarked Murdoc, unperturbed by the threatened violence.

"I saw her first," deadpanned Face, his gun not wavering for even an instant. Revy growled at him.

"The way I see it, you either hand us over the blueprints, or we _all_ end up dead," said Dutch, thumbing back the hammer of his gun for added emphasis. "Your choice, Hannibal."

"You'd really die for some extra spending cash?" asked Hannibal incredulously.

"What can I say? I'm a greedy bastard," said Dutch evenly. "It's just business."

Considering his options carefully, Hannibal concluded there was no sense in his team getting killed here. He lifted up his gun, pointed it skyward, and kept his index finger well clear of the trigger.

"Give 'em the disk," he ordered.

Face, Murdoc, and BA grumbled but complied, the former handing over the disk. Revy and Dutch, however, kept their weapons trained on them.

"Could be another fake," said Dutch, wary of such schemes. He handed the disk to Rock, who passed it to Benny. Mindful of the trigger-happy mercenaries in the room, he grabbed an overturned chair and turned it over, flipping open his laptop and inserting the drive to double-check its authenticity. Rock watched over his shoulder as Revy shifted over towards the two of them, guarding.

Face started to edge himself backwards towards the door, but a cutlass swung up, the muzzled aimed at his face... and then, edging lowering, to just below his belly.

"Give me a reason," Revy said with a wicked grin. "Please."

Fortunately for his sake, Face merely lifted up his hands and backed away.

Hannibal quickly re-evaluated his take on this Revy they'd been fighting. She may have seemed as dumb as a goldfish, but she had more teeth than a piranha. And she wasn't hesitant to use them either.

Fingers flew over the keyboard as Benny typed, drawing up the specs of the blueprints on the disk. "It looks legit..." he said after a moment.

"Then we're out of here," said Dutch.

"Don't do this," Hannibal said, trying one last tactic. "If you give this disk over to the Hotel Moscow syndicate, you have no idea the sort of havoc they'll wreak."

"You're right, I don't. And that helps me sleep at night."

"Don't do it," ordered Hannibal, his voice commanding authority he hadn't had since he'd been stripped of his eagles.

And unfortunately, Dutch had felt and heard the same thing for much of his earlier life. It didn't even faze him. "We're going."

His partner-in-crime Benny was just about to close his laptop when he frowned, adjusting his glasses. Leaning in closer, he checked the information a second time.

"Wait wait, this isn't right... there's pieces of the data missing,"

"What? Benny boy, you sure?"

"Positive. There's gaps in the data. Look, whole pages of the blueprints missing."

Dutch whirled angrily on Hannibal, and grabbed a fistful of his jacket to try and intimidate him. Bad move. Hannibal replied in kind with a holds break and a vicious roundhouse that nearly knocked Dutch's sunglasses clean off his head. He stood woozily for a moment, getting his vision back.

Revy, meanwhile, kept her guns trained on Murdoc and Face, keeping them out of the fight.

A little more wary of getting close to Hannibal this time, Dutch decided to speak the universal language, and pointed his gun instead.

"Where are they?"

"We haven't tampered with the blueprints," Hannibal retorted.

"You expect us to believe that bullshit?" asked Revy.

Over the years, Rock had been forced to interact with many different people. First the social and business climbers in his old company, as well as the two-faced bosses and heartless managers. Then he'd come to Roanapur, and met gun-toting psychopaths, ruthless criminals, greedy sycophants, even bloodthirsty children. All in all, he'd learned how to read people pretty quickly. Gauge their emotional state, figure out their thought process, reason a way to anticipate them. He'd gotten quite good at it, all things considered, though it was usually rational thought he could track. Emotional outbursts were much harder to pin down.

"I think he's telling the truth," said Rock.

Unfortunately, Dutch wasn't listening. "Rock, shut up."

"No, listen, it doesn't make any sense..."

Edging backwards, BA had been stealthily slipping behind Revy. As soon as her guard dropped, he struck, grabbing an overturned chair with his foot and kicking it clear across the room at her. It struck her side and threw off her aim, her bullet impacting the ground near her own feet. BA threw himself at Revy, slamming into her midsection. Tough and dangerous though she was, she weighed less than half of what he did, and he bore her to the ground. Gunshots went wild, as he grabbed her wrist and slammed it against the ground, forcing her to drop her cutlass. Dutch moved quickly to cover Face and Hannibal before they could go for their own weapons.

Rock tried to move towards the fight and help, unsure exactly how he could, when a gun suddenly found its way into his vision.

"A-ah! Hands up, pretty boy!" Murdoc exclaimed cheerfully. Rock's hands went up immediately.

"BA, back off!"

The dark, heavyset former army ranger and the ragtag misfit from Roanapur rolled apart and to their feet, regarding each other warily. Revy didn't dare make a move, however. Not with Rock being covered. Both groups were at a stalemate.

Again.

"Now, let's try this again. This isn't our doing," said Hannibal. "We need those blueprints just as much as you do."

"He's right, the disk has a virus on it," explained Benny. "It's designed to look legit for the first viewing then destroy the blueprints as soon as you eject the disk. That's brillia-... er I mean, uh wow, that... uh... that majorly sucks."

Revy glared, looking ready to chew iron and spit out nails.

"If you fuckers cost us...!" she started to shout, but Rock grabbed her arm, putting off her aim.

"Revy, I don't think they did it! They couldn't have, they haven't had nearly enough time or the sort of equipment to pull something off like that."

She whirled on him angrily, and he was reminded very suddenly how bad it was to get on Revy's bad side. "Well if these assholes didn't fuck it up, who the hell di-...?"

Suddenly she stopped. Interrupted mid-death threat by a sudden noise. A strange humming noise. They all heard it now, and everyone turned and looked curiously. It was growing louder by the second.

"The hell is that noise?" asked Benny, looking up.

Face climbed up and onto an overturned crate against the far wall and peered out the window... and almost right down the barrel of a large weapon pointed directly at their warehouse.

By now the humming noise was almost thunderously loud, and as they watched, the weapon lit up in rings along its muzzle, glowing with bright blue lightning. It didn't take a genius to tell it was powering up to fire, and it was aimed directly at their location.

"Everybody down!" yelled Face.

"MOVE!" shouted Revy at the same time, already shoving Rock forward.

The weapon fired.

* * *

A blinding ray of energy blasted force from the Ragnarok weapon, so bright it was like gazing into the sun. It impacted the side of the waterfront warehouse like it wasn't even there, cleaving clean through it like a hot knife.

And unlike a missile, the stream of energy did not immediately dissipate, but pounded ever harder as the trajectory changed, slicing through the walls of concrete and steel like they were butter, until finally the beam of light ended and the firing stopped.

Smoke wafted upwards from the weapon, nearly overheated. But all in all, its owner was impressed with the results. So he stepped out of the shadows of the weapon to the bow of his ship to properly survey them.

A middle-aged man, simple and unassuming in appearance, with prematurely gray hair and simple eyes of green. The only mark of someone of importance was his clothes, an olive green uniform not of any nation or military in the world... not yet. And while his face was unassuming, his stance was solid and his gaze was hard. Cold. A dangerous man indeed.

The very same man who had, only days ago, been in an unknown location soliciting help from the renegade Alpha Unit. And only an hour ago been in the Lucky Jack passing among the merchandise to the cutthroat Lagoon Company.

John Decker.

"No survivors?" he asked.

His second, a heavyset man with tattooed arms and the garb of a sailor, grinned. "No one could've survived that."

Decker allowed himself a small smile, relaxing at last. It had taken some work but everything was falling into place. The mercenary Alpha Unit had obstructed the process sufficiently that, should any investigation be mounted by either Armored Industries or Hotel Moscow, neither would be able to find out he'd been involved until far too late. Both would conclude the other had managed to get the blueprints to the weapon and were the ones using it in the foreseeable future.

When in fact, the one who was going to be using it was him. To take them both down and build the New World Order.

"I'd say our little test run of the High Energy Tactical Laser was a success, wouldn't you?"

"Certainly sir," his second agreed.

Watching the smoking wreckage, Decker gave the signal, and his ship began to peel away from the harbor. The Ragnarok weapon was also sliding back below deck and out of sight. But he'd be putting it to good use soon enough, oh yes.

Nothing floated on the surface of the water but some broken boards and bits of debris. Both the A-Team and the Lagoon Company were out of his way.

**Author's Notes:**

True villain has revealed himself at long last. I just hope I wasn't too obvious about it.


	4. Symmetry

Revy spat out the water as she resurfaced, then grabbed a hold of Rock's shoulders, pulling him up out of the water so he could breathe, double-checking his condition. Still out like a light. Might've had a concussion, but long as he was still breathing there was a chance he'd be okay.

Grabbing hold of her unconscious partner under his arms, she kicked her legs hard as she could, pulling them back towards dry land. The docks currently looked like the middle of a warzone, burning debris everywhere. And apparently, not a deserted warzone either. One of the piles of rubble shifted, a few heavy boards pushed aside as the gray-haired, older mercenary kicked them off and stood on shaky legs, getting his bearings.

"Face! Murdoc! Sound off, damnit!"

"I'm okay! We're all okay I think!" reported Face, treading water by the end of the pier. He'd dived in along with Revy and half the Lagoon crew. Murdoc was spotted a little ways down, evidently he'd used a table inside the building as a barricade from the attack. The shaken pilot crawled out from underneath it, covered in dust but unharmed.

"Speak for yourself!" bellowed BA, hauling himself out of the water and shaking off like a dog. He had some nasty cuts but otherwise didn't seem injured.

Satisfied his team were all alive and relatively unharmed, Hannibal then turned his attention to his next biggest problem.

Namely, that they'd been had. They'd witnessed the trade-off of the disk, managed to get it away from Hotel Moscow's lapdog killers, led them on a merry chase, and ultimately got them to a stand-still in the warehouse ahead of schedule. Even if it wasn't ideal, everything had gone to plan. Hannibal had been fully confident that given another ten minutes his team could either talk down or take down the mercenaries sent by Hotel Moscow. And then he found out the disk had been compromised. And their hideout blown to hell. With them in it, no less.

There was only one logical conclusion to that. The one man who'd known about both teams involvement, and had access to the disk after it had left Armored Industries but before the drop-off.

That hadn't been in the plan. He'd been played for a fool. By John Decker.

Meanwhile, the Lagoon Company seemed to be in similar states of dishevelment to his own teammates, though the worst were Rock and Revy. The former was still being dragged by the later towards the docks. Dutch and Benny had found shelter at the far end of the room, and were relatively unscathed.

Revy spotted a dark hand come into her field of view and instinctively grabbed it, using the leverage to pull herself out of the drink, as well as drag Rock up with her other arm. Only after she was on more secure footing did she actually look to see who its owner was. And it wasn't Dutch. It was the mohawk'd man from the other team who'd helped her out. His expression was unreadable, but she didn't have time to judge his motives, she needed to make sure Rock was okay. So she pulled him fully out of the water and laid him down amongst the debris of the broken warehouse.

"Thanks," she muttered, not unkindly. He grunted in reply as she knelt down, listening to Rock's chest, trying to hear his heart. Still beating strong.

"How's our boy, Revy?" asked Dutch, making his way over to their side.

"Out like a fucking light," she cursed. "He's breathing though."

Dutch checked Rock's pulse. Steady and strong. And he didn't seem visibly injured. He was no doctor but he'd seen his fair share of injuries, and he felt confident about the survival of his employee under the circumstances. After all, the poor boy had been through worse.

"He's gonna be fine."

Relaxing just a bit, knowing he was going to be okay, Revy glanced up through soaking wet bangs and remembered something very important.

"Uh, guys...?"

Benny and Dutch both glanced up, and for the first time, seemed to remember the other group was there. Hannibal and his crew were watching them warily, having recovered their weapons, but nobody was pointing anything anywhere. Even so, Revy reached up to grab her cutlasses... and cursed silently as she remembered she'd already drawn them earlier. She spotted them over at the far side of the room. Well out of immediate reach.

"Seems the tables have turned," remarked Hannibal, leaning lightly against the still-standing table, hands resting on his knee.

Dutch nodded, expressionless behind his sunglasses. "Sure does," he replied, dropping his hand down to his boot as non-challantly as he could. It wasn't much, but his knife might make some small difference here.

"The question now is... what should we do with you?" asked Hannibal, still maintaining a light, civil tone.

By contrast, most of his teammates weren't feeling quite as charitable. Even Face wasn't very pleased. "Call the local police, let them sort these guys out," he suggested. "Though it'd be a shame to let a girl like you rot in a Miricana jail. Do you know what they do to pretty fillies like you in places like this?"

She replied with a universally rude gesture.

"We should do the world a favor and put you mad dogs out of your misery," said BA, still sore from his near-death experience.

"You're a bunch of fucking moron psychopaths," said Revy angrily, wishing more than ever she had a loaded gun in her hand.

"Pot, kettle. Have you met?" asked Murdoc, sounding for all the world as if he was serious.

Revy seethed angrily, teeth grinding, but remained exactly where she was.

"There isn't any need for more trouble here," said Dutch calmly, trying to defuse the situation.

"Agreed. John Decker played us both," explained Hannibal. "He's screwed over your boss just as much as he screwed over us. It's the only logical explanation. Obviously he's working some agenda of his own, and he tried to take out both of us to cover his tracks."

"Sounds like a little payback is in order, don't you think?" asked BA.

Dutch barely paid him a glance. "If it is, it ain't coming from us. We got hired to make a delivery, not start a war."

"Fuck that, Dutch!" spat Revy angrily. "Those fuckers tried to kill us! I say we riddle them so full of holes they don't know which asshole to shit out of!"

"Not happening. We report to Moscow. Then we go home. Got a problem with that?" he asked, addressing the last question to Hannibal.

The gray-haired ex-Colonel shook his head. "Our fights not with you anymore."

Rock had finally managed to sit up, coughing up some seawater, and Revy patted his back with surprising gentleness to help him expel it.

"W-what happ-happened?" he managed to choke out, before coughing again.

"Job's done," Dutch told him, even as he and Revy helped the former salaryman to his feet.

Revy glared over at the other group but decided enough was enough. For today. "Benny, bring the car around and..." she stopped, her expression screwing up as she remembered an important detail. "Aww fuck, you totaled the car!"

"That was a rental too," griped Rock.

Dutch pinched his brow, feeling a massive headache coming on. This day just kept getting better and better. Keeping his cool and looking from the situation logistically, he issued out some orders to get things moving.

"Revy, stay here and keep an eye on our boy... Benny, set up the connection here, give the intel to Hotel Moscow. Then we'll get to the Lagoon and get the fuck out of here. I'll bring it around."

Benny grabbed his laptop, brushing dust and debris off of it, and booted it up. Surprisingly, it too had escaped the destruction relatively unscathed. Dutch folded his arms as his computer expert went to work.

"Goddamnit, the virus screwed with my laptop... can't connect to the web... I'm gonna have to wipe the whole thing when we get back to the La-... wait, what's this?"

Revy glanced over the screen, which seemed to be mostly gibberish. "What?"

"Oh wait wait wait wait wait, there's something else here... let me just... clean it up..." Benny typed in rapidly, then slapped the side of the laptop. After a few moments, the screen cleared a little. Half of it was still gibberish, but the rest was clear enough. His eyes widened behind his glasses at what he was reading.

"No way... Dutch, he's nuts..."

The bald man leaned in closer to get a look. "What're you talking about?"

"Decker hid his plans in the blueprints. Buried deep, scrambled and coded. But when the virus scrambled the blueprints, they UN-scrambled the code for his plans. Here, lemme just..." he tapped rapidly on the keyboard. "There, look. He's got a list of targets... both headquarters of prominent Armored Industries facilities AND Hotel Moscow setups. A list followed by the name of this place."

"So?"

"So it means it's a hit list. And they must next!"

By now even the soldiers of fortune across the room were paying rapt attention. And Benny's face told them things were about to get dicey.

"Their next target is Roanapur."

"Roana-what?" asked Face, puzzled by the name. He hadn't studied the mission briefings as closely as his teammates. Hannibal Smith, however, recognized it immediately. It was home base for one of the branches of Hotel Moscow, where one of their most fearsome bosses resided.

"He's still covering his tracks," Hannibal realized. "And he's going to start a war between Hotel Moscow and Armored Industries in the process."

"Also makes for an el supremeo weapon demonstration," said BA. "Blowin' up a whole city? Every terrorist and madman in the world is gonna want one of these weapons."

"High demand, no competition. Very business-like," Face said, catching on.

"Then we have to get there first."

"I say we cut and run," said Revy, completely ignoring them. "Florida's nice this time of year, isn't it Benny boy?"

"Sure is," he replied, snapping his laptop closed. "I'm good for it. Dutch?"

"Agreed, fuck these guys and their goddamn weapon. We're going south for the winter. Benny, bring the Lagoon around. Make it fast," ordered Dutch, tossing his keys to the blonde hacker, who scurried out of the warehouse as quick as he could. The docks weren't far, but it would still a fair while to hike their without transportation.

Meanwhile, the A-Team continued to plan out their next mission. In their minds, there was no turning back from this. Countless lives were at stake, and really, no one in the military or police would ever be able to handle the mission half as well as they would in the same amount of time. So it was down to them.

"We need more information. Everything on the table, gentlemen," he instructed, waiting for the input.

BA went first. "Fool probably hired up some guns with money he promised us, but we work cheap, which means they're not high caliber."

Murdoc gave him a look. "Compared to us everybody is low caliber."

"I got a good look at the ship," said Face. "Looked like a pretty big cruiser, probably a large crew. I'm guessing well-armed."

"Don't forget that super lay-zer beam they shot us with," remarked Murdoc, stretching out the word laser with a thick (and obviously fake) accent.

"That could be a problem. We don't know anything about the weapon, no statistics, no blueprints, nothing. Other than it obviously works," he said ruefully, glancing up at the charred walls and half-ceiling of their not-so-safe-anymore house.

"This isn't sounding too good for us boss," remarked Face.

"Odds a million to one... chances of survival in the negative digits," summarized Murdoc.

The four men exchanged a look.

"What're we waiting for?" asked Face.

Across the room, the Lagoon Company could only watch in a mixture of disbelief and pity. The A-Team was top notch, even Revy had to admit they knew what they were doing and they were badass fighters, but they seemed to have a crippling sense of nobility. They weren't even doing this out of revenge, an instinct she could emphasize with. No, they were going on a suicidal mission because it was the right thing to do.

She snorted. Getting yourself killed for a good cause never paid well.

"There's no way they can pull this off... can they?" asked Revy.

Dutch shook his head. "No fucking way this side of Hell," he muttered darkly. "It's impossible."

"No."

Both of the former Lagoon Company turned to their third. To Okajima Rokuro, better known as Rock.

He was staring intently at the ragtag team of mercenaries with a decidedly scary look in his eye. They all knew that look. Not only was Rock about to be brilliant, which was scary in and of itself, he was also about to do something noble. Which to most of them meant something stupid. Doubly dangerous.

"They _can_ do this..." he turned back to face them. "With our help."

* * *

As usual, Revy could be counted upon to politely and constructively evaluate Rock's proposal and point out the flaws in an otherwise brilliant plan with a minimum of harshness.

"Rock... are you out of your fucking MIND?!"

"Roanapur's our home," he retorted. "Don't you care about it? About our friends there?"

"Fuck no! Sure maybe we can give 'em a call to pack up and leave, but I'm not going up against that goddamn super laser and a ship full of psychopaths!"

"Psychopaths who wanted to kill you," Rock countered. "Didn't you say earlier you wanted revenge?"

"Fuck yeah I do, but I didn't sign up for no shitty suicide mission!"

"It won't be suicide," he said, his voice lower than before. "Trust me. I think I have a plan."

Dutch chose that moment to interject. "Rock... you sure about this?"

"Yeah. I know this may seem like a long shot, but I think I have a plan. And we can get back at those assholes who tried to kill us, and save Roanapur. That might even keep Balalaika from blowing our heads off in the process. Keeping her alive is sure to earn us some brownie points, right?"

Dutch frowned, feeling that headache coming on again. This was stupid, he knew. But it was also the right thing to do. But at least now he had a selfish justification to use in case anyone accused him of trying to be noble. "Alright. We're in. Provided these guys feel like joining forces."

"Let me talk to them and try to convince them," requested Rock. "They seem like reasonable sorts."

"When they're not shooting at us," argued Revy, arms folded, sulking. She wasn't going to let this go easily.

Choosing not to dignify that comment with a response, Rock turned and made his way over to the group of soldiers whom spent much of the morning trying to kill him and his fellow Lagoon employees. Sure, they were dangerous, and certainly knew what they were doing, but he'd seen enough to recognize they also learned, reasonable individuals. And cunning tacticians who recognized a valuable resource when one was offered. Also, they had a strong sense of camaraderie, trading banter and jokes as easily as reports and spare ammo. Not too dissimilar from the Lagoon Company, from what he could see.

Banking on that wager, Rock stepped forward and softly cleared his throat to get their attention.

"I want to help."

Hannibal sized him up, and in truth, he found it hard to get a proper reading on this one particular member of the Lagoon Company. He obviously wasn't a mercenary, he was too lean and too pale, his hands were soft, his clothes too nice. Yet he did still have a look about his eyes. A hardness that ordinary civilians lacked.

"Son, we appreciate the offer..."

"We can help," Rock cut him off gently. "You're up against very substantial odds, and this weapon is going to destroy our home. And you don't have a lot of time to get more help. Please."

For a while, the older, gray-haired man's face was inscrutable, giving no hint of his inner thoughts. His gaze flicked to each of the Lagoon Company in turn, sizing them up, weighing his odds, and considering all the possible variables. Not a one spoke, both sides were clearly waiting for their respective representatives to decide what happened. If they went after Decker separately, or together.

Finally, he nodded.

Hannibal stretched out a hand, and Rock took it, giving a firm handshake.

"Colonel Hannibal Smith," he introduced himself, then each of his team in term. He figured once the mission was over, he'd never see the mercenaries again, so no harm in using his teams real names. "Lieutenant Peck. Sergeant Baracus. Captain Murdoc."

"Call me Face," said the handsome lieutenant.

"Call me Boscoe," said BA.

"Call me maybe?" asked Murdoc, picking up the general thread of conversation but as usual, completely missing the point.

Rock blinked at the odd statement but he was starting to get the idea that at least one of this team was a little loopy. That, or he deliberately projected this image to throw others off, the same way 'The Wizard' Rotton was so damned hard to read. Either way, it wasn't worth pressing into right now.

"I'm Okajima Rokuro. Call me Rock," replied their spokesman with an air of professionalism. "This is Dutch and Revy. Benny is our computer support, he'll be back soon with our transportation."

"Call _me_ only if you _need me_," the gunslinger girl growled.

"Sure you're up for this?" asked Hannibal, carefully gauging piranha girl. "You don't strike me as the selfless sort."

She shrugged. "Long as I get a chance to kill some of these fuckers I'm with you."

"Good enough for me," he replied.

"What's the plan boss?" asked Face.

"Let's go over that somewhere more secure," replied Hannibal. He turned to Rock. "You have transport?"

"PT boat in the harbor," Rock replied evenly. "Big enough for all of us. Just need to get there."

"Then we'll take the van, seeing as your car is totaled," replied Hannibal with a good-natured rib. Both teams piled out of the warehouse and towards the gray van hidden in a nearby alleyway. BA opened up the side then held out an arm to stop the newcomers, wanting to lay down some ground rules first.

"Alright, everybody in, and nobody make a mess. This is my pride and joy," he explained. "Mess up my ride and I mess you up, capiche?"

"Capiche," replied Rock politely, crawling into the backmost seat. Revy and Face join him, sandwhiching the gunslinger girl between the two men. She glared so hard the vehicle almost burst into flame, but thankfully it seemed that the former lieutenant made no moves on her despite the circumstances. Which was good, because Rock was fairly certain bloodstains would annoy the driver.

Everybody in, the van took off for the docks, meeting Benny just as he'd reached the Lagoon and was preparing to cast off. BA took the van to a garage nearby while everyone else piled into the PT boat. Conversations were short and clipped, everyone was gauging their counterparts, watching for weakness, sizing up potential comrades or new threats.

This was going to be one bumpy ride.

* * *

**Author's Notes:  
**Alliances have been made.


	5. Waiting Move

Thankfully, the trip to the Black Lagoon passed without incident, where they met up with Benny and swapped vehicles. BA and Murdock were dropped off to put their respective vehicles into storage and shipping, while everyone else piled into the PT boat.

Thankfully, the Miricana police had yet to mount any sort of formal inquiry or blockade into the reports of shooting and reckless driving (to say nothing of a vaporized warehouse) so they were given leave to clear port. Once everyone was there, Dutch did exactly that, then joined everyone else in the engine room. While they normally conducted business and planning on the bridge or in the day cabin, Dutch was still just a little leery of his new teammates, and was purposefully putting them in the grittier, darker parts of his ship until he saw what they were made of. Hannibal Smith seemed to catch on to such quickly, and respected that. He told his A-Team in no uncertain terms they were guests and to play nice.

Once everyone was gathered, the head of the Lagoon Company mercifully cut to the chase.

"Alright Rock, just what is this brilliant plan of yours?"

"Well it starts simple enough," the Japanese businessman said. "Mostly, our objective is to find the ship Decker is using and blow it, him, and the weapon clean out of the water."

"And the fact that an enormous cruiser with an experimental super-weapon trumps a PT boat in a dog fight?"

Rock shook his head. "I'm not planning to get us into a drawn out fight. That _would_ be stupid. I want to get us onboard. Deal with Decker personally. Would you prefer the odds of you and Revy versus some hired rent-a-goons?"

The larger man nodded, adjusting his ever-present sunglasses. "That I think I can deal with. But how?"

"Well.. that's where they come in," Rock indicated the mercenaries. "Let me flesh out a plan with Hannibal..."

"Meanwhile," interrupted the gray-haired ex-Colonel. "We need to try and find that ship. They say no plan survives first contact with the enemy... but no plan at all is going to work unless we get _to_ the enemy. Can you do that, Mr. Dutch?"

"It's just Dutch... and sure, I got this. Benny! Fire up the navigation system, we're taking off."

Once they were underway, Rock and Hannibal commandeered the engine room for a little brainstorming, while the rest of the teams scattered to various locales to pass the time. Revy, not really needed until they were in shooting distance of someone, meandered onto the bow of the ship with a cigarette dangling from her lips. The nicotine was doing wonders to help relax her. To her surprise, however, she found she'd been beaten to the punch by one of the A-Team... the crazy one, Murdoc. He scooted aside to give her space, and she sat down beside him, eyeing him warily.

"Murdoc, is it?"

"That's-a my name!" he exclaimed dramatically. "Bill, show the pretty lady what she's won."

She actually smirked at that. It was so terrible an impersonation it was actually kinda funny.

"So what's your story?"

"Two years ago, an elite commando unit was sent to military prison for a crime they didn't commit," he narrated, his voice pitched low, like he was describing a summer blockbuster. "These men promptly escaped from a maximum security facility. Today, still wanted by the government, they survive as soldiers of fortune."

She barked a laugh. "Wanted, huh? So there a reward if I turn you in after this mess is all done?"

He smiled back. "You won't be the first to try, chica."

Revy grinned, showing her very sharp teeth, and tossed her spent cigarette over the side and into the ocean. To her surprised by the time she'd turned back, he was offering her one of his.

"You guys are alright," she declared, taking one and lighting it. Soothing nicotine filled her lungs. She'd have liked a beer as well, but sadly the Lagoon hadn't been well stocked for their return voyage. The idea was they could've grabbed something back in Miricana before they left, but as it was, they'd been lucky to get out without being shot.

Eh, easy come, easy go.

The two former adversaries turned allies lay quietly like that for a while, enjoying the relative peace and quiet of the rushing wind and the roar of the boat's engines. Alas, their serene moment was interrupted when the handsome but annoying fellow, Face, she dimly recalled was his monicker, popped up onto the deck.

"Yo Murdoc! Revy! They're calling us down for a meeting, shake a leg."

The pilot scrambled to his feet, tossing his cigarette over the side of the ship. "Are we forming the battle plan? Do I get a plane? Oh no, a boat? Oh can I, can I please? I ain't never flown a Elco PT Boat from WWII before. Might be fun!"

"You don't _fly_ a boat," Face protested. "And anyway you're dangerous enough behind the controls of a plane."

"Well I never!" Murdock exclaimed in mock indignation. Complete with British accent. "I can fly anything, by jove! I flew a tank once, I did!"

"That wasn't flying, that was falling!"

"Falling with _STYLE_!"

The two men were still arguing as they headed below deck, leaving a stunned gunslinger girl on the bow. She'd been recalling the first time they'd trusted Rock with one of his crazy plans, back when the Captain had been hunting them on behalf of Rock's former company. He'd suggested a rather insane plane to fly the Lagoon into the air and torpedo a military helicopter in a dogfight. It had been insane... but it _had_ worked. Somehow.

Revy eventually just rolled her eyes and puffed at her cigarette, wondering just what the hell they'd gotten into this time.

Tossing her spent cancer stick over the bow of the Lagoon and into the wild blue yonder, she slipped below deck as well, ready to hear what crazy plan Rock had come up with.

_How bad can it be?_ she mused.

* * *

_He was out of his fucking mind_.

And Revy certainly wasn't the only one thinking it. Even the former soldiers looked a little leery of the operation laid out before them.

"This is gonna be interesting," remarked Boscoe sarcastically.

"Interesting nothing, this'll be a miracle if we can pull it off," said Dutch, arms folded, glowering silently.

"Well boss," said Murdoc. "You have truly surpassed our routine level of crazy and gone to the next level. I salute you," he said, and proceeded to do just that. Hannibal returned it with a polite two-finger tap to his forehead.

"I can't take credit for this," said Hannibal. "Rock here was the one who put the plan together."

The A-Team members glanced nervously at one another at that declaration. Revy quirked an eyebrow, slightly surprised by this. They seemed very much fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants types.

"Uh, boss, is that smart?" asked Face hesitantly.

"Yeah, remember the last time we let someone else plan our mission?" added Murdoc, his head aching in remembered pain.

"Trust me, the kids good," replied Hannibal. "I doubt I could do better myself, but even so, I gave some input. Everything should go smooth as glass."

"There _are_ a lot of unknowns," added Rock hesitantly, not wanting confidence amongst the teams to run _too_ high. "Ship layout we know, and some specs on the weapon, as well as a rough psychological profile on John Decker..."

Revy mimed talking with her hand. "Blah blah blah," she said, interrupting him before he started a long shpiel. "I don't need the fine details. Just tell me where to shoot and when and we'll be good."

Rock sighed, having expected that. "We'll skip your part for now then, Revy. But don't worry I made sure you get all the payback you want."

"Aww Rock baby, you're always so sweet to me."

He flushed under her praise, sarcastic or not, and the others exchanged knowing looks.

Hannibal politely cleared his throat. "Alright, we've got a plan. Now we need to make preparations." He turned to their expert engineer. "BA, we're low on materials and time, but we need to get the following items prepared: Three pairs of spiked gloves, the kind they use for mountaineering. I want them to be able to punch through steel."

"I think I can pull that off."

"We also need some wetsuits, I understand you still have some in storage?"

Dutch nodded.

"And a waterproof bag."

"Done," proclaimed Revy, dumping it on the table. "Completely airtight."

"Benny... anything technical needed on your end?"

The bespeckled man nodded after a moment. "Think I'm more or less set-up. Just need a direct connection."

"Everyone else this may be your only chance to arm yourselves, so go for the gusto. My team? I'm authorizing live rounds. The time for pulling punches has passed."

His team nodded. Dutch didn't need to bother to clarify the same for his team. They always shot to kill, or didn't shoot at all.

"Any questions?" asked Rock one final time.

No one responded. It seemed this was as good as it was going to get. It was a plan fraught with danger, riddled with pitfalls, and soaked in bloodshed and terror.

In other words, just an average Tuesday for both groups.

"Right... lock'n'load."

Dutch climbed back into the seat at the bow of his baby, the Black Lagoon, and nudged the speed up a notch, pushing them closer to their destination. Rock climbed into the cockpit and adjusted his tie, taking a moment to smooth back his hair and look professional. He knew it would be lost on the hard mercenaries and psychotic killers he was dealing with, but really, it was for psychologically reasons. He tended to do better if thought in terms of business.

Below, in the holds, Boscoe was afixing some spikes to glove handles, sharpening them to razor points for their purposes. The Lagoon Companies wetsuits had been laid out for those making use of them. Everyone else was checking artillery, cleaning and loading guns, exchanging ammo when and where appropriate, and arming themselves to the teeth. They planned to leave with quite the body count behind them, although they saved a very special piece of ammo and took the time to paint John Decker's name on the side of it. That was for him.

* * *

Sitting on the bridge of his ship, Dutch wondered for the umpteenth time if this was the smart thing to do. As he ran over his part in the plan, he couldn't help but feel apprehensive. Sure, he had one of the least dangerous jobs involved, but it didn't sit well with Dutch sending his people into the fray so callously. Benny, Rock and Revy were the only people he truly counted on anymore in this world. The other team could go drown for all he cared, but they were important. His teammates. His comrades.

If he was particularly drunk or sentimental, he might even call them his family.

A remarkably screwed up family, of that there was no doubt, but a family. And he was the family patron, whose job it was to ensure they were safe, fed, and cared for. And now his kids were all getting their toys ready to go play rough with the rich brats across the street.

Benny stuck his head in the doorframe, interrupting his thoughts.

"Hey Dutch... almost there?"

"Should be... those coordinates you supplied are close, but I guess we'll find out how accurate when we get there."

"I'll go double-check," the blonde hacker offered, but Dutch shook his head.

"Nah, that's alright. Sit down a sec?"

The younger man slid into the seat beside him. "Sure, whatcha need?"

Dutch got right down to business. "What do you think of these guys? I mean really, was this smart? No reason we can't get them all off my ship and go home."

"Go _home_?" Benny asked mildly, his look conveying volumes.

_Ah, right, fuck_. "Well, somewhere else. India I guess. We'll hole up with your girlfriend for a while, if that's fine by yo_u._"

The blonde hacker smirked. "Nothing would make me happier... but no, back to your original question, I'm pretty sure these guys are legit. They're a little flaky, but really, how is that different from anyone else we work with on a regular basis?"

"Point."

"I'm just glad they're on our side now," said Benny. "Less people shooting at me the better, I say."

Dutch definitely couldn't argue with that.

"Just relax and stick to the plan. Rock's never let us down before and I don't think he's going to start now."

"Its not Rock that worries me. I guess its not even these mercenaries. Its that damned weapon Armored cooked up. Its..."

_Beep._

The conversation interrupted, both men peered at the sonar. Moments later, they were giving the signal for the rest to join them, and a few piled into the cockpit to peer out the window. Despite the darkening skies, they could make out the black image of a ship on the horizon. One they were rapidly closing on.

Dutch pulled down the binoculars. "That's it... that's Decker's ship."

Hannibal nodded, lifting up his own set to examine the name painted across the aft, along with the image of a serpentine dragon. "Jormungander... this guy really likes his Norse Mythology."

"Well, time we visit a little of our own Ragnarok on this bastard," muttered Dutch.

"You know your part in the plan?"

"We've been over it over six times already. I got the simplest job to do.

"Simplest but most time-sensitive. If you're too early or too late..."

"I _got_ it."

Hannibal sighed. "Just making sure. I better get into position with Mr Okajima. Wish us luck," he added with a cheer he obviously didn't feel.

"You're gonna need it and more," replied the dark man, stepping over to the hatch. "This plan is plain crazy."

Hannibal smirked. "Well then, good thing that's our specialty, isn't it?"

To that, Dutch grinned and nodded.

* * *

Deep in international waters, the mighty Jormungander cruised along at a sedate pace. A sleek and modern design, it was easily one of the largest and finest privately owned vessels in the world. Stocked to the gills, armed and equipped for a small army, and containing more than a few modern luxuries, as well as the latest technology. And of course, it had been designed to house and power the Rangarok weapon, which was a game changer in and of itself.

All this passed through the mind of John Decker as he stood on the bridge, surveying the skies.

And more besides was on his mind. Plans coming to fruition after nearly two decades of his life lost working for someone else. Seeing brilliant power wasted by men who lacked vision. Well, he _had_ a vision.

Soon Armored Industries and Hotel Moscow would be at each other's throats. The Russian mafia might even pull in some of the other criminal organizations they were ostensibly allies with, while Armored Industries had access and backing to most of the militaries in the world. Between the two of them, they'd be up in arms in weeks, chomping at the bit and paying any price he asked for the specs on the ultimate laser weapon.

And with the accomplished, he'd be sitting pretty with a fortune and some of the most invaluable weapons on the planet in his grasp. Decker idly mused about the possibility of retiring to some tropical island when it was all over. Somewhere remote, maybe he could set up his own government. And of course, lots of pristine beaches with bikini-clad babes...

"Uh, sir?"

His thoughts interrupted, he glanced over. "What is it?" asked Decker, annoyed.

"Uh sir this looks important..."

Decker made his way over to the console where his underling was monitoring the radar. "What could possibly be..."

He trailed off, then his eyes widened. He glanced up at the window, and sure enough, there it was. The Black Lagoon PT Boat, heading directly towards them.

"No way," he breathed, dropping his cigar and reaching for some binoculars. "No way they survived."

"Sir? They're sending a message... they're... requesting to come alongside? Say they want to talk," said the sailor.

Decker peered through a pair binoculars, spotting two individuals standing at the bow. The Japanese kid from the Lagoon Company and the older mercenary from the A-Team. The former was holding a white flag up in the air.

Considering his options, Decker reluctantly gave the order.

"Send a team down to meet our guests," he ordered into a mic. "Heavily armed."

"Shouldn't we just blow them out of the water?" asked one of the other officers on the bridge.

"They wouldn't be stupid enough to come here without a good reason," said Decker. "I want to know what it is. Do as I say."

"Aye-aye," replied the navigator, easing back on the throttle so the Black Lagoon could come alongside the Jormungander.

Decker made his way down to his quarters, which doubled as his personal office. He wanted to be in a position of power when those hired guns came his way, whatever they had to say. He'd listen politely, find out what they wanted, and then have them killed. Nice, quiet, neat.

* * *

**Author's Notes:  
**Now it's time for the real fun to begin. Apologies for both the late and short nature of this chapter, it was intended as set-up from the beginning (hence the title), but unfortunately, it required my writing up most of the rest of the story to ensure I got everything they would need to prepare for or mention here. A-Team level planning is hard. Expect semi-regular, larger portion updates to come.


End file.
